pairing: baby daddy toji x reader
cw: piv sex, oral (m receiving), facefucking, creampie, baby trapping idk, toji calls himself daddy
you hate pulling into his driveway.
every time you do, your stomach knots—equal parts dread, equal parts that sick, twisted kind of anticipation. the kind you don’t want to unpack in therapy.
you tap your fingers on the steering wheel, eyes flicking to the front door. nothing.
it’s 6pm on the dot. you texted him twice this morning. no response.
you climb out of the car, flip-flops slapping the warm concrete, and knock on the front door harder than necessary. your purse is slung over your shoulder, your phone in your other hand, half-ready to start cussing this man out.
finally, the door swings open.
sweatpants riding low on his hips, gray and thin enough to leave nothing to the imagination. no shirt. hair tousled like he just woke up. or like he just got finished doing something he had no business doing.
he leans on the doorframe like he’s posing for a calendar shoot. that smug little tilt of his lips already working your nerves.
"where is he?" you ask flatly, brushing past him into the house.
toji shrugs. “outside. down at the park.”
you turn sharply. "seriously? i told you i was picking him up at six."
he flops onto the couch, scratching his abs. "guess i forgot."
"jesus, toji." you toss your bag by the door, hands on your hips, irritation radiating off you in waves. "you couldn't even be bothered to walk two feet and get him back here?"
“relax,” he drawls. “he’s fine. he’ll be back any minute.”
you glare at him. the worst part is that he looks good. disgustingly good. even his voice pisses you off in that low, rough-around-the-edges way that used to sound so pretty in your ear when you were laid up under him.
you're trying not to think about it. about how his thighs look spread like that. about the vein in his forearm. about how many times you’ve straddled him right there on that same couch.
“don’t got anything to say to me?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.
toji grins. “aren’t you forgettin’ something?”
you deadpan. “what, like common sense?”
he just chuckles. “no. like a happy father’s day.”
you scoff. loudly. “there’s a reason you’re my baby daddy and not a husband, toji. you don’t get holidays from me.”
“ouch.” he pats his chest, fake-wounded. “you breakin’ my heart.”
you cross your arms. “you don’t have one.”
his smirk widens. “nah, i just gave it to you. right before you gave me a kid.”
your stomach flutters. you hate how fast that line hits. you roll your eyes instead of punching him—or worse, climbing into his lap.
toji’s eyes drag down your frame like he’s not even trying to be subtle.
“you look good,” he says low. “didn’t say that yet.”
“but you took the compliment,” he mutters, voice dropping. “just like you’d take this dick if i gave it to you again.”
that heat rushes straight to your core. you fight it. fight it hard.
“why not? you were the one always talkin’ all big—sayin’ you could have me whenever you wanted.”
“oh yeah?” he leans forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice teasing and taunting. “then show me.”
and yet here you are on your knees in his living room with his dick in your mouth, your hair tugged into a messy little fist at the back of your neck, and your lipgloss smeared halfway to your cheek.
"shit, that mouth—" toji grunts, hips bucking, cock heavy and wet against your tongue. "s’like it missed me."
you glare up at him, eyes watering. your jaw already aches, spit dripping down your chin.
he’s deep in your throat, dragging along your tongue every time he pulls back just enough to hear you gag.
"fuck—fuck—yeah, that’s it," he growls. "open wide for daddy."
you moan around him. involuntary. and that’s all the encouragement he needs.
he grabs both sides of your head now. uses you.
not just fucking your mouth—facefucking you.
balls slapping your chin, tip slamming into the back of your throat, heavy grunts dropping down on your flushed face like you're his favorite little toy again.
you feel his cock throb just a second before it happens.
his grip tightens, holds your head flush against his pelvis, buried so deep in your throat that your nose is pressed against his abs.
he cums like that. loud. messy. mean.
hot and thick, spilling straight down your throat, and he stays there—makes sure you take every drop.
when he finally pulls out, it’s slow and sticky with spit, your mouth left wide open and messy. a string of cum-drenched drool falls from your lips to your chest.
"damn," he laughs, wiping your chin with his thumb, cock twitching even though he just finished. “you really love father’s day, huh?”
you try to glare. try to sass back. but your voice is hoarse and your face is slick and flushed and—god—he’s already pulling you up by the waist.
"nah, don’t even try to run your mouth now," he mutters, dragging your shorts down and tossing them somewhere over the couch. "you started this."
you're shoved face-first into the cushions before you can speak.
he doesn’t even bother lining up—just slides two spit-slick fingers through your folds and chuckles.
"drippin’ like you liked that shit."
he pushes in, just enough to make you twitch. "you gettin’ off on suckin’ dick now, huh?"
"toji—" you gasp, but he’s already flipping you onto your back and spreading your legs. no teasing this time. no slow grind.
just him, cock already hard again, shoving in to the hilt.
"that’s it," he grits, hand on your thigh. "took the whole thing in your throat and you’re still this fuckin’ tight?"
you claw at the carpet. moaning, writhing, already too sensitive.
you shouldn’t be this wet—shouldn’t want more when you just swallowed him whole—but his cock hits deep and mean, dragging along every nerve inside you like he’s reclaiming it.
"nah." he grabs your hips, pins them down. pounds into you.
“you get that mouth fucked and now you want it slow? too fucking bad.”
he lifts your leg over his shoulder.
bites down on your calf.
fucks you like it’s revenge—like he’s been holding a grudge since the last time you swore you’d never come back.
"so fuckin' messy," he groans, watching your slick soak into the carpet. "you hear that shit? s’like this pussy’s been waitin’ for me.”
you’re already close. it’s too much—his cock, his voice, the stretch, the pressure, the way your brain is mush and your thighs are trembling and—
“you wanna cum?” he pants. “go on then. fuckin’ cum for me.”
loud. shaking. back arched off the floor as your pussy clamps around him and your orgasm rolls out hard and ugly.
he keeps fucking you through it. slapping into you so hard the couch creaks. until you’re twitching and whimpering and drooling again.
“you’re mine,” he grunts. “this pussy? fuckin’ mine.”
you’re too fucked-out to argue.
“you know what?” he hisses, thrusts sloppy now. “gonna put another one in you. knock you up again. maybe then you’ll stop actin’ like you don’t still want me.”
you moan weakly. your legs don’t even work anymore.
“gonna fill you up,” he growls. “keep my fuckin’ cum in you ‘til it takes.”
and then he cums again—harder than the first time.
deep and hot and heavy, flooding your insides with a growl that rumbles in his chest.
he stays there, still buried deep. doesn’t move. doesn’t even pull out.
just leans over you, panting into your shoulder, breath hot on your neck.
“…happy father’s day to me,” he mutters, and you swear he sounds proud of himself.
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